Throughout most of my life, I made decisions based on one thing: how I felt in the moment.
Turned out to be a bad idea.
Back in my early twenties, when I was starting out as an advertising copywriter, I chose to work for an abusive jerk in one of the most notorious hack agencies in New York. It was the place that invented that American icon, Madge the Manicurist. And working there was hell.
At the same time, I ignored an invitation to interview with Ed McCabe, the grand circus master of creative boutique agencies. He was the guy every young writer wanted to work for. He was fun, engaging and swept every awards show. But I blew off his entreaty.
Because I had no idea what I was doing. Blithely, I assumed I should just go on instincts, so I made a very bad choice.
The bottom line was that I didn’t know how to ask for help. Nor did I even know I needed help.
At age 20, I thought I knew all the answers. “All ad agencies are alike,” I told myself, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. So I chose rashly, with no preparation.
Thirty-two years later, I discovered I was still making the same mistake. Fresh out of a 25-year marriage and newly out as a lesbian, I was in no mood for circumspection. I dove headfirst into a love affair with an unstable person.
A month later I came to my senses and walked away – only to return to her a month later on an impulse. A friend at the time advised me against it.
“You’re scaring me,” he said. But I ignored him.
After all, I always knew the correct answer … right?
Only in the last several years have I learned to make decisions slowly and with a great deal of thought. The bigger the decision, the more thought goes into it. It feels like an act of Grace.
Conscious decision-making has taught me that I am not alone. That it’s best to get feedback from trusted friends. So I’ve come to think of these wonderful advisers as my personal ‘board of directors.’
Friends talked me off the cliff of compulsive overwork when it was time grieve my daughter’s death. Others advised me to walk away from a potential abusive relationship, and run towards the woman I was really suited to.
Still others kept me from snuffing out my pain with an impulse to buy a painting I couldn’t afford.
In the end, each choice I’ve made has always been mine. But I’ve learned to make them with eyes open and all the options on the table.
In this way, conscious decision-making has saved my bacon many times in recent years.
Here’s the part I really love: this Zen-like approach to decision making is fun. The pressure is off!
Especially when I regard each decision as an experiment – one that may work beautifully, or, instead, become a ‘learning experience.’
No longer must I be the swashbuckling hero of the moment, swooping in to make a big decision with no forethought or research. No longer must I save the day the way I used to as a child in an alcoholic family.
Instead, now I can take my own sweet time. I can decide when I’m damn good and ready, and not a moment sooner.
Not surprisingly, the woman I am now married to is a beautiful decision maker. She vets every choice thoroughly, turning it over from all angles. She’s not interested in seizing every opportunity, but instead, in exploring the potential downsides as well.
She takes her time, and she is teaching me to do so, too’.
At times, it’s still uncomfortable to peel myself away from a rash decision. The old buzz of pheromones and the thrill of the adrenal rush sometimes beckon.
But I stop to reflect before I choose. Because I know that on the other side is excellent self care, which is far more sustainable than the sugar rush of a fast choice.
Do I still honor my instincts? Absolutely. It’s just that now I know how to sit with them.
The world will not end tomorrow if we don’t act today. We can act in good time, slowly and consciously, and so enjoy the warm glow of satisfaction from a decision well made.
May you choose well and slowly.